


The House on Chicken Legs

by writtensword



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Magic, Talking Animals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtensword/pseuds/writtensword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy is a miller's daughter and one day ends up in the big scary forest where she is found by the witch. :-O </p>
<p>I'm not a native English speaker and I did not have any of this beta read so there are bound to be weird grammar situations and typos. I hope it's not so bad, but if something really bothers you, please feel free to let me know!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Day Sofia Ran

**Author's Note:**

> Although you do not need to be familiar with any of the following, the setting of this story is sort of a hotchpotch of the folk tales of Baba Yaga and Kaschei with themes from different Ghibli movies (Howl’s Moving Castle, Mononoke Hime, Spirited Away etc), themes from Legend of Zelda, the 2014 Maleficent movie, and the GDR children's movie "The Flying Windmill".

 

“Stop it!”

 

Andy spoke into the warm summer breeze that had picked up strands of her hair and used them to tickle her nose. She rubbed the itch from her cheeks and smiled, “I’m already late!”

 

At that the wind quieted down and allowed her to finish retying her hair into a long, thick braid. Casting one last glance from her elevated vantage point over the ever mysterious forest that lay before her, Andy stood and shook out her skirt. She quickly wrapped the remains of her lunch into a cloth, and made her way down the other side of the grassy hill.

 

She fetched her father’s mule from where she had left her in the shade of a gnarly quince tree and led her back to the cart at the side of the road. Andy’s heart ached as she fastened the ropes onto the thin creature’s bridle. The mule had served her father since he had only been a boy, and Andy feared the animal would not outlive its former master for much longer.  

 

“Come on, Sofia,” she encouraged, and she walked to the back of the cart and pushed.

 

Deep down, Andy knew that the sensible thing was to sell the mule to the village butcher, for as Sofia’s days waned, so did the last bit of valuable meat on her bones. But after having only recently lost her father, Andy did not want to think about losing Sofia too.

 

They slowly moved along the road, yellow dust rising where the squeaky cart wheels pushed into dry clay. Insects buzzed in the tall grass to either side and the sun was so hot that the air glimmered before them. Soon, Andy felt sweat pearl at the nape of her neck, and she whispered for the wind to come cool her.

 

A soft breeze almost playfully brushed over the stalks of the surrounding, unharvested fields, before making its way to Andy and ever so gently licking at her damp skin. Andy revelled in the relief it gave her, and she found the strength to push harder.

 

_Not much further,_ she thought, convinced that she could already hear the clanking of the blacksmith’s hammer from the village square in the distance.

 

With her father gone, deliveries to the village baker had now fallen to Andy, and she was reluctant to think about how she was going to make this journey in a future without Sofia. Work at the old windmill was almost too much to handle on her own, even when the kind weather had kept the grindstones turning continuously for the past two weeks.

 

What use were six dozen jute bags of flour, though, if she could not go and sell them? Andy was far from the only miller in these lands, and until now it had always been her father’s friendliness with the baker that had ensured payment. However, theirs had been a familiarity that Andy did not share, particularly not with the baker’s son. As she pushed Sofia and the cart the final stretch into the village, Andy hoped that she would not have to cross paths with Nate today.

 

“Andy! We expected you a good hour ago!” The old baker said, wiping his hands on his apron as he stepped through the door to greet her.

 

“I’m sorry,” replied Andy.

 

She stopped the cart and straightened, arching her spine to shake off her exhaustion. Drenched in sweat and covered in dust from the mill and the road, she knew she looked unkempt and dirty. However, Andy was not the kind of girl who wished to appeal to men, and so she carelessly wiped the moisture from her face and blew against her bangs.

 

“Natan. Come help unload the flour,” the baker called for his son, and Andy instinctively squared her shoulders.

 

She walked around to Sofia to loosen the bridle and busied herself with stroking the mule’s warm neck when Nate appeared.

 

“Good day, Andy,” he said with a half-grin that made Andy’s stomach turn.

 

His wide, green eyes bore into her from below dark locks sprinkled with flour, and Andy wondered if a different girl might have found it charming.

 

“Hello, Nate,” she greeted, acutely aware that good manners played a part in whether or not she’d have enough to eat come winter.

 

Nate heaved one of the jute bags onto his shoulder and gestured to Andy with his stubbly chin.

 

“I want to speak with you before you go.”

 

Not waiting for a response he then carried the flour into the bakery, and Andy dropped her forehead to Sofia’s, releasing a frustrated sigh as she scratched behind the animal’s ears.

 

“Come on. Let’s go and get you some water.”

 

Andy left her cart to be emptied and walked across the village square to the stone well in its centre. She poured a bucket of water for the mule, then pulled up another to quench her own thirst and clean her face and hands. The summer breeze was back to kiss her cheeks and cool her damp skin, and relishing the soothing caress, Andy rested her aching backside on a wooden bench next to the well and watched Sofia drink.

 

Oh she knew what Nate would say to her, but she had no desire to hear it. Being unmarried and childless at twenty-one years of age was considered quite unusual. Andy had been able to push aside people’s suspicions by explaining that she needed to look after her sick father before she could look after a husband. Now that her father had passed, however, the villagers would no longer accept her excuses. They would either see her wed, or accuse her of witchcraft.

 

“What will I do…?” Andy asked the wind.

 

A strong gust suddenly wrapped itself around her, and Andy could almost pretend it was the embrace of a friend. The feeling of comfort it elicited caused her to snort and shake her head at herself.

 

They might as well call her a witch, for she preferred the company of animals and the earth to the company of men. And although she was aware that nature’s responses were merely her vivid imagination, Andy would gladly continue life on her own, speaking to only Sofia and the wind.

 

The mule looked up and pressed her nose into Andy’s palms.

 

Despite trying hard to remain positive, Andy worried greatly about her future. How would she be able to keep up with the grain harvest when her mill still needed so many repairs and there were so few hours in a day? She had worked tirelessly for the past weeks, replacing every tooth on the spur wheel, carving each piece of wood herself, and spending days perched in the mill’s wings, mending its sails. Nonetheless, Andy knew she was fighting a lost battle. Two mill stones were cracked, and Andy could not afford to replace even one.

 

As she lovingly scratched below Sofia’s white-whiskered chin Andy remembered her father’s last wish and how he had begged her to abandon the mill and let Nate take her as his wife. She shuddered at the thought. Besides having no desire to be anywhere near the baker’s son, Andy could not imagine living without the steadily creaking mill machinery. Milling was all she knew. Throughout her childhood the wind had been her constant playmate and companion, and she had learned its moods so well that their post mill had always been the first to face into a new direction, even long before the weather turned.

 

Milling was what Andy was good at. It was what she loved. Giving it all up to become somebody’s wife held no appeal. She knew she wanted to keep her freedom, even if it meant she’d become a lonely old hag; like the witches who were said to dwell within the big forest, and who, according to legend, ate men alive.

 

With a small laugh Andy gazed back at the bakery, where Nate stood beside her now empty cart and waved. She rose from the bench, determined to once more thwart the young man’s advances.

 

“You wait here, old girl.” She said as she refilled the water bucket for Sofia. “Drink. The walk home will be long.”

 

Nate grinned when she approached him.

 

“You were half a dozen short today,” he began. “I told you. Running that mill is too difficult for a girl on her own. It is time you closed it down and considered my offer.”

 

“Oh, the flour is bagged and ready,” Andy replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she straightened her spine. “I would have brought it all, if only my mule were a little younger. She cannot pull as much as she used to.”

 

It looked as though Nate was about to retort, when something behind Andy caught his eye and an eerie smile settled upon his lips.

 

“She seems pretty lively to me.” He pointed at the village square. “Your mule.”

 

Andy spun around.

 

“Sofia!”

 

She had turned just in time to watch the animal gallop up the road behind the Blacksmith’s shop.

 

What on earth?

 

“Sofia!” Andy called out again, and she gathered the fabric of her skirt and broke into a run.

 

“Andy,” Nate yelled after her. “Wait!”

 

But she barely heard him over the loud thumping of her heart as she chased after Sofia. What had gotten into the animal? Andy had never seen Sofia move this fast in her life.

 

She tried to follow the flurry of hooves out of the village as quickly as possible, but the sun was burning, and the day’s earlier exhaustion began to weigh down heavily on Andy. A few times she stumbled over her own two feet and almost lost sight of Sofia. Then, suddenly, as if she were being guided, Sofia darted to the side and bolted straight into a field of rye.

 

Golden stalks obligingly bent out of the way when Andy continued her chase through the tall crop. With the wind in her back she felt confident that she could catch the mule, her feet barely touching the ground as she cut through the field. But then Andy realised where Sofia was headed, and dread slowed her steps, the corners of her mouth dropping, as she tried not to despair.

 

“Sofia! Not the forest!”

 

Not the big, haunted forest, from which nothing and nobody supposedly ever returned alive.

 

“Andy!”

 

Not even the sound of Nate behind her could spur Andy onward, and she stopped about a yard away from the first tree, watching her mule disappear into the darkness that lay beyond.

 

“Wow, for a girl you can really run,” Nate said, quite out of breath, as he drew up behind her.

 

“Would you shut your mouth?!” Andy yelled, frustrated with him and the situation. “I didn’t ask you to follow me.”

 

“I’m a free man. I can go wherever I please,” he replied with a grin that Andy would have loved to wipe off his face with her fist.

 

“And I’m a free woman,” she mumbled angrily, turning back toward the forest.

 

As Andy regarded the line of trees, attempting to ignore the young man’s presence beside her, a gust of wind pushed hard against her back, whipping her skirt about her legs. Puffs of warm air stroked over her chin, curling around her skin like gentle fingers, coaxing her, luring her forward. Was that Sofia braying, or had the wind just whispered her name?

 

“Uh, Andy? What are you doing?” Nate sounded slightly agitated. “You can’t go in there.”

 

Andy looked at him over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of the forest!”

 

“Legends speak of an evil in these woods that kills all those who trespass,” Nate continued, nervous eyes skittering over the low, swaying branches. “Come on, Andy, let’s return to the village.”

 

“You are such a child,” Andy mocked, unwilling to succumb to her own fear in front of Nate. “I’ve lived near this forest my entire life, and have never I seen or heard anything suggesting witchcraft.”

 

It wasn’t a lie. Of course she had grown up with the same ominous tales, and she had certainly kept a respectful distance to the mysterious forest all through her childhood. However, she had also experienced a strange fascination from very early on, watching the bordering trees from her bedroom window up in the mill, wondering what lay hidden where she had never seen evidence of the fabled magic, and yet would not dare to tread.

 

“Andy,” Nate tried again, his hand grabbing her arm. “Do the right thing. Come back with me and marry me. Forget about your broken mill and that useless mule!”

 

“Don’t touch me,” she sneered and pushed him away just as the wind noisily rattled through the thick foliage ahead.

 

“If there is indeed a witch,” Andy spat, too annoyed with him to remain courteous, and too frightened to remain calm, “I’d still rather be her dinner than your wife!”

 

And with that she stepped into the forest.

 

For a moment Andy felt as if she had been swallowed whole. The world had suddenly closed around her, muting even the collective murmur of heavy rye stalks bending in the wind just outside. Or had the wind perhaps stopped altogether? Andy couldn’t say. She stood very still and listened, gaze searching for traces of Sofia.

 

Nate had tried to follow her, but it seemed that whenever he set foot near a tree, a branch swung back to hit him, the snapping of leaves and his grunts of pain mere echoes in the distance.

 

“Fine!”  He finally yelled. “Go on then. Be with your witch!”

 

Another branch hit him square in the face, and he disappeared from view and from Andy’s mind.

 

Soft earth cushioned Andy’s steps as she carefully moved forward. Eyes still adjusting to the overwhelming scarcity of sunlight after her chase across bright midday fields, Andy allowed the subtle cracks of twigs, the rustling of leaves and the distinctive wheezing of an exhausted, old mule to guide her.

 

“Sofia,” she called out, her chest heavy with apprehension. Somehow she knew that this would be the mule’s final journey.

 

As Andy continued to follow the sounds deeper into the forest, opaque shadows gradually yielded more and more details of her surroundings. The further Andy walked, the taller the trees became, and the more variety she found in the bushes, shrubs and mosses within the thicket along the way. The scent of earth, rain and decay permeated the air in long, drawn out wafts, like the slow, even breaths of a great beast, pulsing from the soil, the wood and every single leaf.

 

After a few more minutes Andy arrived at the edge of a clearing, where the gap in the crowns of trees allowed for beams of sunlight to fall unto soft grass that was sprinkled with tiny white flowers. Sofia was lying on her side in the very centre, heat from her heaving body rising as steam in the beams of light. When Andy dropped to her knees beside her, the mule exhaled softly, nostrils flaring, and she leaned weakly into Andy’s touch.

 

“Oh, Sofia,” Andy whispered, her eyes burning.

 

Reverently, she stroked the animal’s clammy coat, sensing a calmness settle over the both of them. It seemed as if in her mad dash into the forest Sofia had fulfilled a greater purpose, and now, as her reward, she was allowed to be at peace.

 

“Sweet Sofia. Why have you brought me here?” Andy wondered out loud while tears rolled down her cheeks. “What is it that you want me to do?”

 

The mule’s breath grew shallow. She nuzzled Andy’s palm one last time, and Andy hugged her tenderly until, finally, Sofia stilled.

 

Andy remained slumped over, quietly weeping into the animal’s lifeless form. She felt overcome by lethargy, as if the mixture of sorrow and confusion was weighing down every limb. The idea of getting up, of moving and perhaps returning to the world outside the forest was swallowed by a dense fog inside Andy’s head. Suddenly sleep was all that mattered, and with a final effort Andy curled against Sofia and closed her eyes.

 

Darkness enveloped her, pressing against her from all sides. Tendrils, thick and heavy like ropes covered in tar, their slippery claws finding no purchase as they tried to grab her wrists and ankles. Andy struggled and kicked, turning her face away from the low, steady whispers that called for her surrender. She couldn’t speak, nor breathe, and any moment now, she knew, she would fall into nothingness.

 

The wind came for her then, blasting the dark shapes away and dragging Andy up and toward the light.

 

She fell into the grass. Cursing this particular day and the strange turn her life had decided to take, Andy grunted and rose to her feet.

 

That was when she saw the witch.

 

Just a few yards away, framed by a beam of golden sunlight, was the most grotesque face Andy had ever seen. Large eyebrows were drawn forward into a hardened frown, with eyes set so far back that they appeared merely as black holes. Horrified, Andy stared at a nose that was sharp, and long and hung very crookedly above a wide, lecherous grin. To complete the horrific vision, the head was framed by wild, green hair that fell heavily over cloaked shoulders.

 

Andy felt so frightened that she could not move an inch. She instantly regretted her last words to Nate; becoming someone’s dinner had suddenly lost all its appeal. With the sensation of that nothingness grabbing her--dark magic, no doubt--still fresh in her mind, all Andy could do was stare back at the hideous grimace and hope that death would be quick and merciful.

 

Something brushed against the hem of her skirt, and out of reflex Andy gazed down, ready to brace for an attack by the witch in her moment of negligence. It startled her, that, instead of creeping shadows, she saw a cat. A regular brown tabby cat that looked back up at her with big, yellow eyes and gently rubbed its head against Andy’s leg.

 

“Hello,” the cat spoke in a melodious male voice.

 

And that did it. The last thing Andy heard before she fainted was a meowed snort and a soft, muffled voice that admonished, “Nigel!”

 

 

 


	2. The Witch

When Andy regained consciousness she felt warm and comfortable, and for a short while she sleepily listened to the steady creaking of wooden machinery that reminded her so much of her own windmill.

 

But Andy wasn’t home, was she?

 

She opened her eyes with a start, only to stare straight back at the horrible visage from her nightmare, features unchanged and menacing. With a scream Andy sat up from where she had been reclining. Due to the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, however, she hit her head on a low beam, and finding herself trapped in a blanket, she tumbled helplessly off the side and onto the floor with a loud thud.

 

Panicked, she whipped her head around, afraid to be jumped by the witch. But then she realised that the face didn’t belong to a witch at all. It was a mask; a painted, wooden mask with a long mane of grass, twigs and moss, propped against the wall in an alcove before her.

 

Andy panted. Her heart was racing, and her head and backside throbbed painfully. Wincing, she disentangled herself from the blanket and stood on wobbly legs.

 

_A mask._

 

She approached it, carefully. On the one hand it was quite a relief that the hideous creature she had seen wasn’t real. However, on the other hand, someone _had_ been wearing that mask, and someone _had_ attacked her.

 

“Well, well,” came a voice from just above where Andy had fallen out of her bed.

 

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

 

A young woman, probably not much older than Andy herself, walked down the stairs. Her fiery, red hair hung down her back in two long braids, bouncing lightly as she moved. She wore a dark blue tunic over long trousers, and big, fuzzy boots. Her hands finished fastening her belt just as she reached the bottom step.

 

“Uhm,” Andy heard herself utter. She still couldn’t quite discern whether she was in danger or not.

 

“Oh, what a brilliant impersonation of a fish,” the redhead mocked as she breezed past a baffled Andy, and into the open kitchen space behind her.

 

“Why, again, did you bring her here?”

 

“Don’t ask me,” a male voice replied, and Andy turned to watch the brown tabby cat from earlier jump down from a window sill and proceed to languidly stretch each of its limbs.

 

“I’m not the one who made that decision,” the cat continued.

 

“Well, I can’t muddy well ask _her_ , now, can I?” The redhead spoke, fingers pointing up, as she fetched a tall, metal pitcher from a crowded kitchen shelf with the other hand. Despite her utter confusion at the scene before her, Andy worried that the ‘her’ could be the person who had worn the mask.

 

“But just... look at this girl,” the redhead gestured wildly at Andy, pitcher in hand. “What is she wearing?! That has got to be the most hideous skirt I have ever seen!”

 

Andy looked down and frowned. What was wrong with her skirt?

 

The tabby glanced in Andy’s direction with an expression of amusement that a cat, by any right, should not be capable of.

 

“Emily, be nice,” he purred, regarding Andy with curiosity, before turning and jumping onto the large, wooden table in the centre of the room. “I think she has a certain... _charme_.”

 

“For a peasant,” Emily mumbled. She pulled at a rope on the wall and held the pitcher under a clay pipe that emerged from the ceiling. From somewhere above came a loud ticking noise, and the sound of wood groaning under grave stress, but other than that, nothing happened.

 

The redhead was not amused. “Oh, rat boogies! This awful thing doesn’t work... _yet again!_ ” She rambled on as she slapped her palm flat against the pipe a few times and then pulled the rope again.

 

Something gurgled in protest, and a moment later water poured out of the clay pipe and into the pitcher. And over the pitcher. And over Emily’s arm and into the wide stone basin below.

 

“Great! Just great!” The redhead shrieked, as she tried to stop the stream of water.

 

Had Andy possessed the slightest idea of what was going on and who these people were, she might have attempted to help. Seeing how, instead of information, these two had only offered insults, however, Andy just stood and watched while Emily frantically pulled at the rope and hammered her fist against the pipe, until, finally, the water stopped.

 

“Oh, festering pus bucket!” The redhead yelled, shaking water from her clothes.

 

“Emily, must you be so crude?” The cat complained, turning up his nose where he sat on the table in a patch of morning sunlight. “You’ve got such a filthy mouth!”

 

“Not as filthy as country bumpkin’s clothes over there,” Emily said, before she grumpily placed the filled metal water pitcher on top of the stove and opened a small door below to prod at the glowing embers within.

 

Despite still wringing with the fact that the cat was actually capable of human speech, Andy didn’t like the way these two spoke about her and her appearance.

 

“Uhm, hello? I’m right here,” she interjected, causing the woman and the cat to look up at her with blank expressions.

 

The tabby sniffed. “Yes, darling, we are quite aware of that.”

 

Before Andy could complain about their rude behaviour the sound of a closing door upstairs caused all three of them to freeze.

 

“Oh great. Your screeching must have woken her,” the cat hissed at Emily, while his alarmed gaze focused on the stairs.

 

“No, no, no,” Emily murmured, eyes wide, as her frantic hands pulled a cup from the shelf. “Her brew isn’t ready!”

 

Andy felt a lump form in her throat. Emily and the cat weren’t exactly friendly, but to Andy they didn’t seem particularly threatening either. To watch them go from their distracted bickering to such full-blown panic within seconds, made Andy very apprehensive. Whoever was moving about upstairs was very likely the masked person who had sent dark shadows after Andy.

 

 _The witch,_ she thought.

 

Emily hurriedly worked a hand grinder--one similar to the kind Andy normally used to crush her morning oats--and then poured a resulting dark brown powder into the cup.

 

“Come on! Boil already!” She whispered at the water pitcher with exasperation, hands wringing while her gaze occasionally darted to the stairwell.

 

Andy couldn’t move. She didn’t know if she should run and hide. There was a part of her that wanted answers, because she still had no idea where she was or what had happened, and this creaking house with its clay water pipes intrigued her. But was such knowledge worth her life?

 

The first thing Andy saw were bare feet, so very lightly touching the wood, as step by step the witch glided soundlessly down the stairs. She wore thin, skin-tight trousers the colour of dark moss which only just reached down to her muscular calves. Her charcoal tunic was held together by a braided rope belt, and it had wide, flowing sleeves and an open neckline that showed the subtle rise of collarbones. Andy’s eyes travelled over the wooden marbles on her necklace and up the gentle line of a creamy, pale throat.

 

Andy wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the witch’s face was nothing like the grotesque mask. Her hair was as white as snow, so short that a single forelock barely just brushed the high cheekbones, and although there was a slight bump in its middle, the witch’s nose was long and thin and it perfectly matched her proud chin. She looked so unlike the ugly hags from Andy’s childhood tales that Andy was completely mesmerised, forgetting for just a moment that she should be scared.

 

“Good morning, Miranda,” the redhead stammered. “Your brew is almost ready!”

 

Pink lips pursed in obvious displeasure and eyes narrowed at Emily as the witch-- _Miranda,_ Andy silently repeated the name--passed Andy, ignoring her entirely. She walked around the table and spoke in that soft voice Andy remembered from right before she had fainted.

 

“Emily, Is there a reason you created such a ruckus this morning?”

 

She slowly sat down in a chair at the other side of the table, and Andy was fascinated by her refined, smooth movements. The cat crawled over to Miranda and nudged her hand until she lifted her fingers to stroke his fur.

 

“I’m so sorry, Miranda,” Emily stammered and her cheeks flushed a bright pink.

 

“Although I am quite aware of your affinity for water as of late, I fail to see the merit of wearing drenched clothes,” Miranda continued, completely disregarding Emily’s apology.

 

The cat laughed at that, and Andy was reminded that what might sound like the average, domestic morning banter of a regular family was in fact anything but ordinary.

 

“Oh shut up, Nigel,” Emily spat at the cat. “You know it was that awful pipe!”

 

“Well, weren’t you the one who was supposed to fix it?” Nigel purred, visibly enjoying the scratching behind his ears, and Miranda merely raised an expectant eyebrow at the flustered redhead.

 

“Well... _she’s_ the one who was rolling and stomping around on the floor,” Emily accusingly pointed at Andy.

 

And then the witch’s gaze was finally upon her, and Andy felt a whole new kind of frightened. She couldn’t look away as clear blue eyes bore into her, searing her, as they searched and attempted to unlock all of Andy’s secrets at once. Andy felt the witch’s magic wash over her, felt it fill her chest and resonate low in her belly. The sensation was as unsettling as it was enticing.

 

“Who are you?” Miranda then asked, and she tilted up her chin and regarded Andy through lowered lashes.

 

Her fingers continued to calmly stroke Nigel’s fur as she awaited Andy’s reply, the smug cat’s tail curling around her wrist.

 

“I’m… uhm...” Andy briefly looked down at her own feet. “My name is Andy--well, Andrea,” she grimaced, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. “But everyone calls me Andy.”

 

Miranda’s gaze slowly travelled down Andy’s body, and Andy felt heat spread from where those burning eyes briefly lingered along the way.

 

“And why,” Miranda paused and her eyes flicked back up to Andy’s face, “did you so recklessly chase a dying mule into my forest, _Andrea?_ ”

 

She pronounced Andy’s given name in a way Andy had never heard before, putting emphasis on the second syllable instead of the first, and the sound of it inexplicably caused Andy to shiver.

 

“Sofia,” Andy suddenly remembered, her eyes burning. “I… didn’t want her to be alone. I think I knew it was time for her to go...” She couldn’t stop the single tear that rolled down her cheek. “It’s just… Sofia was the only family I had left.” Her hand trembled as she reached up to wipe her face and meekly added, “I’m sorry that I intruded.”

 

Miranda tilted her head to the side and regarded Andy once more through lowered lashes.

 

“I see.”

 

She fell quiet for a moment, her lips pursing as she seemed to consider her next words while the cat gently purred to encourage her hand to keep up the lazy scratching behind his ears.

 

“In the future,” Miranda continued, her face serious as she leaned forward, “you should be more careful. You were lucky that Nigel and I happened to be close by.”

 

 _Lucky?_ Andy wondered, and she blurted, “you mean those shadow things… that wasn’t you?”

 

Miranda raised an amused eyebrow and Emily snorted behind her.

 

“If Miranda wanted to kill you,” the redhead explained, “you wouldn’t be here.”

 

She walked over and set the cup with the earlier ground-up powder on the table and poured steaming water from the pitcher until the cup was filled with a dark brown, swirling liquid. A very strong aroma filled the room, and Andy watched as Miranda’s eyelids briefly fluttered shut, nostrils flaring as she inhaled.

 

It wasn’t so much the strange, fragrant brew that had Andy part her lips in a quiet gasp of wonder, but rather the sudden and quite startling realisation that Miranda was very, very beautiful.

 

Quickly Andy averted her gaze, unsure why her heart beat so loudly when she apparently wasn’t in immediate danger.

 

“Uhm… t-then what did happen? Where am I? Why did you bring me here?”

 

“Well, you passed out and we couldn’t just leave you,” Nigel said with a smirk that bared his sharp little canines.

 

“So, the shadows weren’t real?”

 

“Oh they are real,” Miranda replied, eyes flashing ominously. “For a moment I even thought we were too late, but you survived the attack, which is not a small feat, might I add.”

 

Andy swallowed hard, remembering the darkness clawing at her.

 

“How long was I out for?”

 

“The whole night,” said Nigel, and he rose from under the witch’s fingers and pranced toward the edge of the table, where he sat and stared up at Andy.

 

All three were now looking at her, and Andy felt like she was supposed to say or do something. They had rescued her and taken her some place safe, and although Andy still had a lot of questions, she had better be polite and not take up more of these people’s time. For all she knew Miranda could still be a powerful and dangerous witch, and talking cats probably shouldn’t be trusted.

 

“Well, uhm, thank you, for taking care of me, and for not leaving me with those,” she grimaced, “ _...things._ ”

 

She took a tentative step sideways, towards a door between two windows, which she hoped led outside.

 

“I suppose… I uhm… I should go. I don’t wish to intrude...”

 

Miranda sighed audibly and waved a hand at the redhead.

 

“Very well. Emily, see to it that our guest is safely escorted back out of the forest.”

 

Clearly annoyed by the order, Emily nonetheless nodded and mumbled, “yes, Miranda.”

 

“And Andrea,” Miranda said as she lifted the steaming brew to her lips and gazed at Andy across the rim of the cup. “Do try and stay out of any more trouble, hmmm?”

 

The playful tone and that special way Miranda pronounced her name got the better of Andy, and she felt her lips stretch into an involuntary grin.

 

At that moment a loud crack and subsequent rumbling were heard from above, and the sudden displeased look on Miranda’s face stopped any reply from passing Andy’s lips.

 

Emily spun on her heel and stared in horror at the clay pipe, while Miranda sighed and dramatically rolled her eyes. She set down her cup and raised a hand, the long sleeve of her tunic sliding from her wrist and gathering at her elbow, exposing a slender forearm. As soon as the water came splashing from the end of the pipe it streamed into the air, wobbling and shimmering as it magically floated through the kitchen. Andy watched, mesmerised, how Miranda moved her fingers, flexing and curling them in an elegant dance.

 

A window opened seemingly on its own, and with a rather bored expression Miranda steered the blob of water out in the open, where it immediately stopped hovering and fell freely at the flick of Miranda’s wrist. Andy heard the splatter of drops on the foliage below.

 

So, Miranda was indeed a witch. _Wonderful._

 

Before Andy could make a move for the door, Miranda had stood from her seat and was very slowly stepping around the table towards the redhead.

 

“Emily, is it too much to ask for the tasks I give you to be completed?”

 

“N-no, Miranda,” Emily stammered, before indignation got the better of her. “I just… I’m a magic apprentice, not a carpenter!”

 

“A carpenter?”  The sudden frost in Miranda’s voice chilled Andy to the bone.

 

There was no doubt in Andy’s mind about how powerful this witch truly was as her eyes bore into the terrified young woman beside Andy. The air changed, and it appeared as if Miranda grew a few inches taller as she addressed Emily.

 

“I took you in, allowed you into my home and painstakingly molded and refined what one should call rudimentary knowledge of magic at best, hoping against my initial suspicions that one day your basic skills would amount to something greater, while nonetheless being presented with one disappointment after another, and now you question my decisions and deign a task so simple and straightforward beneath you?”

 

Despite the harshness of her words, Miranda’s voice remained eerily quiet.

 

“Do you think I just waved my hand one day on a whim and this house started to walk? Do you think I became who I am today with a few lazy incantations and a condescending shrug? A talent for magic isn’t everything, Emily, and it’s time you acknowledged that if you want to get anywhere you need to work hard and do as I say.”

 

Andy felt extremely uncomfortable watching Emily’s dressing down, and although Emily’s earlier attitude had been decidedly snooty, Andy felt compassion for the redhead. Nobody deserved to be spoken to like this, especially not in front of an audience.

 

“You came here to learn,” Miranda continued. “I will teach you everything or nothing.”

 

The last word lingered in the room as an unspoken ultimatum, and Emily blanched.

 

“The decision is yours,” the witch added, and with a final glance at Emily she picked up her cup from the table and walked past the two younger women and back up the stairs without any further acknowledgement.

 

“I did replace the cogwheel,” Emily sniffled in Nigel’s direction, voice straining against the urge to openly cry. “It just… it still doesn’t work and I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. I tried all the spells I know.”

 

The cat gently pressed his head against Emily’s trembling hand in quiet comfort, and Andy wished she could do something to help.

 

_Wait a minute. Cogwheel?_

 

“Uhm,” Andy carefully spoke up. “Maybe I can help?”

 

She was met with a patronising snort.

 

“Don’t make me laugh! What would someone like you know about Magic?!”

 

“Nothing,” Andy replied truthfully. “But I know about cogwheels.”

 

 


	3. The House That Sways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, everyone, for your support! I'm sorry that it's taking me so long to write these. I've been battling some serious writer's block/anxiety. Working on it, though! :)

“Keep up, will you?” Emily called over her shoulder as Andy attempted to take in as much of her surroundings as she possibly could during their climb up the winding, contorted staircase. Her curiosity demanded its fill, and Andy knew this was her one chance to see more of this strange, wondrous place.

The house smelled of tree bark, flowers and something spicy Andy was altogether unfamiliar with. Bushels of fragrant, dried herbs lined the walls and with each step she took Andy was encompassed by a different scent. It was a heady, confusing experience, albeit not an unpleasant one. They passed several doors, all closed, and Andy pondered behind which one Miranda had disappeared.

She followed Emily across a landing that held tall cabinets filled with glass jars and small wooden boxes, and although there were a lot of different things in a very small space, everything was neatly sorted into categories and labeled with elegantly curved writing.

‘Betulaceae’ and ‘Fagaceae’ weren’t words Andy recognised, or could probably pronounce, but she also spotted jars of chestnuts and oak nuts, and she wondered why a witch would collect tree seeds while Andy’s childhood tales had spoken of ‘rat livers’ and ‘eyes of newt’.

As they ascended yet another staircase Andy began to feel dizzy, and although--in order to find her bearings--she kept glancing through the tiny windows of different sizes that they passed along the way, Andy couldn’t quite tell whether it was the swaying trees outside, or the house itself that was moving. She was used to climbing into every last corner of her windmill, but this place with its intricately woven innards was something else entirely.

Was there magic at play or had Miranda built this house by hand? Andy recalled the speech the witch had given Emily just a few moments ago, and she considered that perhaps one did not exclude the other.

“Mind your head,” Nigel meowed from behind Andy as the redhead in front quickly ducked through a low door and stepped out onto a terrace.

Andy followed and found herself atop a sea of green. Trees stretched for as far as she could see, and at the horizon a large, tree-covered mountain rose up into the sky. As she stared in disbelief at the vastness before her a sudden gust of wind brushed over the crowns of nearby trees and greeted Andy by whipping about her hair and toying with the hem of her dress, causing Andy to smile at the familiarity.

“How large is this forest?” She asked, awed.

Nigel jumped onto the wooden balustrade in front of her and replied, “there is only one person alive who knows. She, however, is not exactly the type to volunteer information.”

“Ah, yes,” Andy nodded, pretty certain he was talking about Miranda.

“Where is the edge of the forest?” She suddenly wondered. “Where did you find me?”

Nigel turned his head and pointed his little nose in the direction behind her, and Andy followed his gaze and squinted.

“Oh,” she could vaguely make out where the lines of trees stopped in the distance. It surely had to be a lot further away than a single day’s journey on foot.

“Dare I ask how I ended up _here_ , when just yesterday I was over _there_?” Andy said. She supposed Miranda owned a horse and perhaps carriage. Or was it possible she had been brought here by magic?

“I mean, I doubt Miranda threw me over her shoulder and ran.” She gave a small laugh at the image in her head until she saw Nigel’s blank expression.

Andy stared at him in disbelief, and her heart raced at the very idea of her unconscious self being hauled all this way by the powerful witch.

“Of course she didn’t. Don’t be an idiot!” Emily hissed, and Andy felt foolish as Nigel smirked at her.

“Now, if you two are done sightseeing, the cogwheel I replaced is down here.”

Emily bent down to open a trapdoor on the terrace floor to reveal a shallow, empty basin below. At the bottom of the slanted basin was a hole, covered by a wooden plug that was attached to a complex mechanism of coiled springs, weights and small gears, with at its end a larger, wooden cogwheel.

“I don’t know what you think you could do,” Emily mumbled as Andy knelt down to have a closer look.

“Ah, so this is the rope from the kitchen?” Andy asked while tugging at the rope and noting how nothing seemed to happen. “And when you pull it, it _should_ lift the plug until you let go?”

“Obviously,” Emily sighed.

“This is really quite amazing! Does the basin collect rainwater?” Andy became excited at an idea so simple yet unheard of.

“Can you fix it or not?” The redhead asked impatiently. “If not, then don’t waste my time.”

“Hmmm,” Andy reached down to remove the main cogwheel and glared at it with suspicion, convinced it couldn’t be this easy. The cogs, however, were indeed slanted, indicating that the wheel was meant to move in one direction only. Hoping for the best Andy turned the cogwheel around and placed it back on its axle. As suspected, the wheel’s cogs now caught onto the mechanism and opened and closed the basin plug as Andy pulled and released the rope.

“Well,” Nigel purred beside her. “Oddly enough, I am not surprised.”

“Oh, shut up,” Emily growled, and whatever small amount of triumph Andy felt dissipated.

“It’s an easy mistake to make,” Andy tried, aware that the pressure of being an apprentice to someone like Miranda was probably most taxing. She was glad she wasn’t in Emily’s shoes.

In her frustration, Emily shut the trapdoor so quickly that Andy could barely pull back her hands in time.

“Look, Magic should be above this,” Emily said angrily. “I shouldn’t have to look at such a trivial detail to make this blistering thing work!”

“Or maybe that is exactly what Miranda is trying to teach you,” Nigel said as he circled Andy who rose to her feet.

The redhead fell silent at that, and Andy mused that perhaps Miranda wasn't such a bad teacher after all. Of course Andy knew nothing of Magic, and had until recently not even truly believed in its existence. What she had deduced from Miranda’s earlier talk, however, was that the relationship between Magic and the physical world seemed quite a bit more complicated than the simple wave of a hand.

“Ugh, I’m sure Miranda knew what the problem was this whole time,” Emily finally said. “And she let me suffer.”

“These are just lessons, Emily,” Nigel replied. “Take them as such… and _learn_.”

The redhead made a disgruntled noise, but seemed to accept his words.

“Right.” She took a deep breath and then looked at Andy. “Let’s go get you home.”

As they descended the stairs Andy felt overcome by a feeling of disappointment. A large part of her, she realised, did not want to leave. She was aware that someone like her did not belong here, and she definitely did not wish to become a burden to people who had never actually asked for her to appear in their lives. And yet, her heart grew heavier with every step. She silently scolded herself for being ridiculous, but the pounding in her chest would not be quieted.

_Home._

What was home? There was nobody left. And how long would it take for her to grow weary of the solitude, of the endless physical labour, of running a mill that required more care than she could physically provide and financially afford?

Just a day ago, prior to her knowledge of this house with its charming, if bickering occupants, a life of solitude in her old mill hadn’t seemed so bad. She had known no alternative, and so her dreams had been enough. But now Andy wasn’t sure she wanted to return to that life.

They arrived back in the kitchen, and Andy looked up just in time to lock eyes with Miranda. Her heart roared, and Andy knew nothing would ever be the same. She could try to go on, live a miller’s life and fight to keep her mill going for several more years, but she would never forget Miranda and the scent of the strange brew in this swaying house among the trees. Somehow the witch had gotten hold of her, and Andy wasn’t sure she wanted to be let go.

“The little country bumpkin solved the water problem,” Nigel purred to Emily’s displeasure, and Miranda raised an inquisitive eyebrow, gaze not leaving Andy.

“In fact, it appears,” Nigel continued, “that Andy here knows quite a bit about machinery. She could be of use to you.”

“Is that so?” Miranda enquired as she flung a heavy, dark green cloak over her shoulders and turned to retrieve the mask from its alcove, before holding out her hand and allowing Nigel to climb onto her arm.

“Think about it,” the cat continued as he settled on her left shoulder. “Two apprentices. One for the Magic, and one to help with that leg that’s been giving you so much trouble.”

Andy felt her cheeks glow from the sudden rush of excitement. Was there really a chance Miranda would take her on as an apprentice? And shouldn’t Andy at least be consulted? But as Miranda took her sweet time to consider Nigel’s suggestion, Andy burned with apprehension. There was no way she would say no.

“What is it that you do,” Miranda asked, “that makes you so familiar with the workings of machines?”

“I, uh, run a windmill,” Andy stammered, the sudden interest in her skills making her feel helplessly self-conscious. She did not want to say the wrong thing and ruin her small chance at this highly unlikely apprenticeship. “I probably don’t know a lot about different kinds of machines, but I’ve been, uhm, maintaining the mill mechanism since I was seven.”

Miranda pursed her lips in contemplation, gaze once more sweeping over Andy from head to toe.

“Fine. Andrea may stay.” Miranda finally responded, the hints of a smirk tugging at her lips. “But not before she takes a bath.”

The euphoria inside Andy lost some of its vibrancy thanks to the jab at her appearance, but if a bath was all it took for her to be allowed to remain here a while longer, she had no objections.

“Splendid!” Nigel sniggered, and Andy got the feeling that had he been human, he would have clapped his hands in excitement.

“Emily, take Andrea with you when you sneak off to the lake,” Miranda instructed. “And do something about that dreadful dress of hers. You do still remember the basic garment enchantments, I hope. And Andrea,” she tilted up her chin, eyes drilling into Andy, “I suggest you do your best to impress me.”

She donned the mask and turned, cloak swirling behind her as she called over her shoulder, “that’s all.”

Miranda stepped through the door just as it opened, and in a blinding, white swoosh her and Nigel were gone.

Andy trembled as she felt both elation and worry sweep through her. She didn’t think she had anything to offer to someone as powerful as Miranda, and she wasn’t sure what would be expected of her. But spending some time to learn more about the water contraption upstairs--and hopefully any other mechanical secrets this house harboured--sounded a lot better than returning to a broken mill full of futile chores and loneliness. Even if these people insisted on insulting her appearance.

“What is wrong with my dress?” She turned to ask Emily, but found the redhead still staring at the empty doorway, mouth agape.

“Emily?”

“Sneak off?” Emily murmured, her pale cheeks colouring a bright red as she slowly grew agitated. _“Sneak off?!”_

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, until she threw up her hands in frustration.

“She knows!!” She rambled on, entirely ignoring Andy. “Oh, of course she knows. Miranda knows _everything_. Why did I think I could keep this a secret?”

She rubbed her face and groaned into her palms. “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job...”

“Uhm,” Andy wanted to be supportive, but was unsure of what to say.

“You!” Emily held up a finger and glared. “Not a word from you.”

She waltzed past Andy to retrieve a small cloth bag from a hook by the door, and then turned around, foot tapping impatiently as she waved her hand at the still open doorway in a grand gesture.

“Well, come on then.”

Andy thought it best to keep her mouth shut and she hurried past Emily and onto the narrow balcony outside. When she had descended a final flight of stairs onto the grassy ground below, Andy instantly bent back her head and looked up at the trees, marvelling at how tall they were. Somehow they were spaced just so that enough sun still made it down to her, albeit filtered through countless layers of rustling foliage. Andy blinked up at the sky wondering how tall the house itself was. She turned around and her breath caught as she could finally fully gaze at Miranda’s swaying house from the outside.

It was indeed very tall; judging by the windows there had to be at least half a dozen floors. Unlike any other house Andy had ever seen, however, this building did not shoot up in a straight line, but instead was an interwoven mass of different segments, wide and heavy near the bottom, and slimming toward the top. Some segments had bulging walls of what looked like clay, others appeared to be wood, and every segment was painted in either faded red, ochre or green. The colour had chipped off in several places and moss and tiny flowers sprouted from cracks and from beneath window ledges. There were more balconies along the facade, many of them covered in flowers. Pipes and chimneys of various sizes encased the house almost like a large net, winding upwards from segment to segment like snakes, with saplings and small shrubs having found a home in their nooks and crannies.

It seemed to Andy like the most bizarre combination of finest carpentry and willful neglect, and yet it fit together so organically, so naturally, that Andy thought for a moment she could see the building breathe as if it were a living creature. The house was definitely swaying, and when Andy’s let her eyes travel all the way down she finally understood why.

The house stood on two chicken legs. Or at least that was what it looked like to Andy. She squinted at the shade under the house’s large “belly”, and saw two bird feet made from a combination of wooden beams, shafts and gears, each foot balancing on three toes. As the ankles adjusted under the weight, the house above gently moved from side to side.

All Andy could do was stare in disbelief, mouth slackened and her neck cracking as she bent her head back to look up once more, absolutely in awe at Miranda’s power and what she had chosen to do with it.

“Does your skill of impersonating a fish come at the cost of your ability to walk?” Emily suddenly called from quite a distance away, and Andy realised she must have stood and stared for a long while.

She had so many questions. How could two wooden legs carry such a load? How did the house not tip over? And what powered all those gears? However, Andy did not want to agitate Emily any further. And now that she had been given a chance at this apprenticeship she hoped that some of her questions would get answered as she learned.

“Sorry!” She called out and hurried to catch up with Emily.

 


End file.
